


The Revenant

by Adrenalineshots



Category: Outlander (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of battle, Angst, Battle of Culloden, Depression, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:13:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27825088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrenalineshots/pseuds/Adrenalineshots
Summary: Set after Jamie is returned home, following the battle of Culloden. A glimpse into his mind in the months that followed, before he became the Dunbonnet.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	The Revenant

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure: this is the first time in this fandom and, while I love the show, I have never read the books (I know, shame on me). So the events on this story follow only the TV show canon events, as those are the only ones I am familiar with. The show leaves us with quite a gap in between Jamie showing up at Lallybroch half dead and becoming the Dunbonney years after. This is a small filler on what those initial times might have been for our favorite Highlander and his family.

April had turned into May, May into June. Time had lost all meaning apart from one season dissolving into the next. Effortlessly, as time did all things.

Crops had been laid on the ground, even if the dead had been left to rot on the battlefield, denied of honor and rites. Families carried their mourning in silence and kept on working, for the fields waited for no man, woman or child, much less for their broken hearts. Spring gave way to Summer which would turn into Winter all too soon and all of them needed food to survive. Those who had survived, that is.

Jamie had little recollection of returning home after the battle of Culloden or of the weeks that followed. At some point in time, he had become aware of where he was, but by then he no longer cared. Lallybroch or hell, it mattered little to him. Life went on around him and the bed that had become the center of his world, but he had no interest in taking part in it. He was nothing but a reluctant bystander on a play that no longer held his interest.

Jenny joked that he had spent so much time courting death that if Death was a woman, she would've bedded him by now. She _joked_ , but her eyes held no mirth. She worried for him. They all did.

Truth was, Jamie wanted Death to take him. That had been his wish every since he had joined his men in the battle, knowing that death awaited them all, sure that there would be no _after_.

Surviving was the hardest thing Jamie had ever done.

Leaving behind his fellow Highlander warriors on the cold ground of the after-battle, leaving behind his wife and unborn child in a distant time in the future he could barely hold in his imagination. Tearing out his heart and being forced to keep on breathing. If Death was a woman, Jamie would have felt nothing but spite for her. When would she take him? For how long was he supposed to pretend to be alive when all he felt inside were ashes and decay?

Despite Jenny and Ian's best efforts to nurse Jamie back to health, sitting by his side as his body was consumed by fever and disease, it was a doomed battle. Culloden all over again, a lost battle from the start, for they were trying to keep alive something that had long been dead.

Eventually, his body had vanquished the fever, but it was naught but an empty shell that had been left behind. In truth, the real Jamie Fraser had died even before the battle of Culloden.

He had died at the stones of Craigh na Dun, right after Claire had vanished before his very eyes.

Even though he had only faint memories of the bloody battle that followed, the same was not true for those last moments when he had held Claire in his arms. Jamie could recall with painful detail every single one of the moments after losing his _mo nighean donn_. He could feel the sharp grass under his knees as he fell, all strength gone from his limbs; he could smell the gunpowder and wet earth in the air as if he was still standing on that hill; he could feel the sun beating down on the back of his neck as he knelt there, silently praying for her return even though he had been the one urging her away.

A proud Highlander warrior had climbed the hill to that circle of stones. A _sluagh_ , a revenant had made the trip back. For that was all that he was now, a corpse pretending to be alive even after his heart and soul had been ripped out from his chest.

Jamie would have been content to waste away in his own bed and simply slip unnoticed into the next world, but his sister was having none of it. As soon as his body had mended well enough, and despite being half his size, she had somehow managed to shove him off his bed and out in the street before he was even aware of the chain of events. ' _A wee bit of warm sun on yer face will do ya wonders_ ', she had said. As if the pale sun of northern Scotland was ever known to warm anything at all, much less a man's soul.

With his leg still on the mend, Jamie reluctantly picked up the walking stick that Ian had fashioned for him. The wood was sturdy and thick, strong enough to support his weight in the stead of his injured leg. Jenny kept reminding him that it was only temporary, that he would not be a cripple for the rest of his life. He cared not, for Jamie wasn't planning on being around long enough to hate that stick.

There was a piece of parchment nailed to the wall outside Lallybroch gates. _Acts of Proscription_ the header said, proudly bearing the seal of the king. The wrong king.

Ian had mentioned something about it to him, Jamie was sure, but he hadn't been fully listening at the time. He could imagine what it said. After all, Claire had warned him that the battle of Culloden marked the death of much more than his fellow countrymen; it was also the end of their culture.

Men could no longer wear their clans' colors and plaid, nor carry weapons. Gaelic was frowned upon and bagpipe music could no longer be played. Small stabs that left a whole country bleeding.

He had no idea what Jenny had done to his tartans, to their father's tartans that he had inherited as the laird of the land. Jamie supposed that they were hidden somewhere in the house. Or perhaps buried under the barn. He cared not which.

His sword had been left behind at Culloden, same as his dirk. The thought of replacing them had never crossed his troubled mind.

As for the rest...Jamie wasn't planning to be alive long enough to miss wearing his kilt. Were it not for his fear of the wrath of God expanding to his family, Jamie would have taken his life himself. It was not the first time the thought had crossed his mind, but like before, he had no one willing to do the deed for him.

After Wentworth. Another _after_ Jamie had never expected to live through. A mercy kill was all that he could have hoped for, but neither his tormentor nor his friends had indulged Jamie in his need to depart this cruel world.

Now...after all the hard work his sister and her husband had put into bringing him back to life, Jamie could not in good faith ask them to undo it. Ian would be heartbroken and Jenny would probably beat his hide bloody if he even uttered the words.

His sister had probably meant for him to take a stroll around the property, maybe go as far as the barn. Standing upright was still a struggle and Jamie knew he tired easier than a newborn bairn trying its wee little legs for the very first time. But once he was out, it was like his body needed escaping.

Fraser dragged himself through the woods, barely watching where he was going, the stick silent against the soft, soggy ground, sinking deeper with each step. Maybe his feet would lead him to a treacherous path where he would lose his footing and break his neck. Or perhaps he would crossways with a wild boar and be left to bleed on the green leaves. One could only hope. 

Jamie's feet, however, knew those woods better than the back of his hand, having walked under those trees since he was old enough to put on foot in front of the other. He had seen those trees grow in height and berth, and in return, they had watched him become a man.

How did the woods felt now, as a revenant walked through them? Did they feel the urge to shield away from his touch, sensing all the death he carried inside?

The quiet murmur of the nearby stream grew in strength as Jamie drew closer to the water. Claire had told him that, in the future, water was carried in pipes to people's homes, and all they had to do to have a drink of water was to open a little wheel in their kitchens to let it pour.

It was hard to believe that water inside rusty pipes would ever be as fresh as the one running free through the stream, but as he struggled to kneel near the stream to have a drink, Jamie had to admit that it would certainly be easier.

“Get back, ya filthy red coat!”

The words made Jamie's heart stop inside his chest. How often had he heard those exact same words in his life, being uttered by family and friends when faced with some injustice or another at the hands of the British soldiers? The voice, this time around, sounded unfamiliar and impossibly young, much too young to be facing soldiers on his own.

Jamie stood up much too quickly, his leg folding neatly under him even as he wanted it to do its job and support his weight. He fell back down with a hiss, pain shooting daggers up and down the length of his leg. He silently cursed the damn thing, closing his eyes in frustration.

“Yer never take me alive, ya scum!”

There were sounds of struggle and fight, followed by more words and the echo of clashing weapons. Using his walking stick, Jamie tried again, sending a silent prayer for God to grant him strength one last time. If he was to lose his life defending a child from British soldiers, that was a far better death than Jamie could have dreamed of a mere few minutes ago. An honorable death, heaven-sent.

He had no weapons, none but the stick in his hands, and even that Jamie needed to stand upright. But he still he charged in the direction of the shouting.

It wasn't bravery. He would not pretend it was so, not even to himself. He was nothing but a coward, racing towards a promise of release.

Jamie stumbled across the bushes, reaching the battlefield with the same grace of a fat, wild boar. He held his walking stick up high, ready to strike the first foe he laid eyes upon. A coarse roar escaped his lips, a warrior's cry feeble and out of practice. Fitting.

There were only three boys in the clearing, no older than Fergus, frozen like statues with nothing fright in their faces as they stared back at him. Each was holding a stick in their hands. Pretend swords.

There wasn't a single redcoat as far as the eye could see.

Jamie felt a surge of anger rising inside his chest. He felt cheated upon, deceived. 

While he did not know the boys' names, Jamie could easily recognize the tartans they were wearing. Graham, Innes, and MacNab.

He wanted to shout at the boys, for being all the way out there alone, pretending to fight an enemy that was all too real, scowl at them for making a fool out of him. But the truth was, Jamie had done it to himself. Words died in his throat, shriveling up and dissolving into bile. All that came out was a grunt that was neither here nor there.

The boy dressed in the MacNab tartan took a step closer to him, treading lightly as if he was dealing with a wild animal.

“Careful, Ned!” one of the other boys called out, grabbing Ned by his arm. “He don't look right in t'head,” he warned, giving the strange man a look that spoke of violence should he choose to come any nearer to them. “Off ya go! We have nothing fer ya, ya filthy beggar!”

Jamie frowned in confusion. He supposed it had been a while since he last bathed properly, the leg wound preventing him from doing much more than using a washcloth. And his hair and beard had grown quite a bit since he had last taken care of either. To young eyes, perhaps he did look more of a vagrant rather than the laird of Broch Tuarach.

Anger melted into sadness, sadness into disappointment. There would be no redcoats there for him to face, only the disappointed looks of his own countrymen who could not see him as the man he had been.

The first stone caught him by surprise, a sharp sting of pain in his shoulder that he barely felt under the layers of clothing, like the sting of a bee. Jamie looked up to find the boys holding their next volley of ammunition. 

As more stones flew in his direction, Jamie gave little thought to the matter as he used his broad stick to defend himself. After all, it wasn't that much different than some of the games he used to play at castle Leoch and what might have looked like a display of skill, was nothing but second nature to him. One after the other, he easily deflected most of the sharp rocks flying his way.

The boys, however, had gone far enough. Before they had time to pick any more rocks to throw at him, Jamie surged forward. Vagrant or not, this was no way to treat a person and those boys needed a lesson.

Even with a limp and his bedraggled clothing, there was nothing that could mask his imposing height and the reach of his limbs. Standing height and strong, Jamie screamed in anger as he chased the boys, intended on picking them one by one and bending them over his knee. A nice, good tanning to their hides would teach them some manners.

Suddenly, all the will to fight and brawl had escaped the boys' spirit, as they turned on their tails and run away, faster than a scared colt.

Jamie dropped to his knees, walking stick by his side. He was exhausted, breathing as hard as an ox after a hard day's work.

He sat down heavily before rolling to lay on his back, trying to regain his breathing, angry at himself for feeling so weak. Something trickled from his forehead into his hair. Jamie swatted at it impatiently, thinking he had actually broken into a sweat after barely taking five steps. His fingers came back coated in blood, telling him that he hadn't been as effecting dodging those stones as he had first assumed.

High above, the trees parted ever so slightly to give him a glimpse of the blue sky above. His body had started to shake, but oddly enough, he felt no cold.

Images of other times, other skylines, invaded Jamie's mind, making his heart race and his breath catch inside his chest. Glimpses of blue sky hidden behind a mantle of gunpowder smoke and mist as he laid on the cold mud, waiting to die. He could still hear the groans and whimpers of those around him, sounds that were nothing more than beacons of doom, alerting the redcoats to the presence of the wounded. They had died where they had fallen, skewed by bayonets that had intended to be merciful but held nothing but cruelty.

Blue sky had turned into black night, punctured here and there by shimmers of light as snow caught wisps of torchlight as it fell down on the field of death.

There had been no mercy for him there.

All that he could recall of the time between being rescued from the battlefield and being trapped in a farmhouse, was the sense of loss. For what he had left behind and for his keen, executed by the redcoats who found them.

The sky had been cloudy and dull as his wounded body rocked and trashed in the back of a wagon, without knowing that he was heading home. All Jamie remembered from that long journey was the fervent wish that his next breath would be his last. He has felt so hot them, confused by the grey sky, sure that a man could only feel that hot under the blasting rays of the warm sun.

Jamie had no idea how long he had laid there on the hard ground, lost in thought, and trapped inside his dark memories. Even though it was nearly Summer, those were still dense woods in northern Scotland and his behind was freezing cold.

The temperature had done no wonders for his leg either. The whole limp felt like old leather, weathered and coarse, skin off the hide of a cow rather than his own. Jamie furiously rubbed the flesh above his knee, hoping to bring some of it to life long enough to make his way home. It would be dark in a couple of hours and if he didn't return on his own, Jenny would send out the hounds out to hunt him.

Finally sure that the basted leg would take some of his weight, Jamie struggled to his feet. Fire laced up his leg every time he set his foot down, even with the walking stick's aid, but more than ignore it, Jamie embraced it. The pain was a constant reminder that he was still alive, that despite feeling dead inside, he still breathed.

He was still a way to go before reaching Lallybroch when the distant sound of hoofs alert Jamie that he was about to have company on the road. These days, there was only one group of men riding in such numbers.

Even months after the end of the rebellion, the Jacobites were still being hunted across the country. Red Jamie, as it were, was one of the most coveted by any garrison leader.

Twice already the redcoats had come to Lallybroch searching for him. Hidden in a secret room behind the kitchens, Jamie had listened as his sister and brother in law spun their tall tales to the soldiers, swearing on all that was sacred that they had not laid eyes on James Fraser for over a year.

There was no hiding now. Before, he had only agreed to do as his sister asked because to be caught in their family's state would mean disgrace for the whole family. But out there, in the open, he was nothing but a vagrant wandering about, trying to make his way home. The soldiers would catch him, kill him and no-fault would fall on Jenny and her family. They would be safe and Jamie would finally be dead.

It wasn't exactly a smile that stretched his lips, for his lips seemed to have forgotten how to do that, but it came close enough. It was certainly an air of quiet satisfaction that fell upon Jamie's face as he saw the riders coming closer, the distinctive redness of their coats announcing their identity as loud and clear as lightning announces thunder.

Jamie stopped in by the side of the road, breathing deeply and trying to look as proud as he could in his over-mended clothes and shaggy countenance.

The riders were so close now that he could see the doubloons on their uniforms, catching the dying light of the sun. They drew their pistols as they got nearer. “Stop! In the name of the King, stop at once!”

Jamie blinked. He wasn't moving, he had no intention to move. Exactly what did they wish him to stop doing? Breathing? He would gladly do so, but wasn't sure that was an order he would be able to obey.

Only one of the soldiers took aim and fired, did Jamie realized that it was he who had held their attention at all. The soldiers raced by him, ignoring the bedraggled figure as they chased a group further down the road.

Jamie followed them with his gaze, still unsure what could have caught the redcoats' attention so raptly that they had passed by Red Jamie without batting an eye.

The soldiers had stopped further ahead, on the path that led to the village. The horses had formed a loose circle, all of their attention focused on those trapped inside. Jamie moved closer, as fast as he could, which wasn't nearly fast enough.

By the time he had covered half the distance, the soldiers had bounded their prisoners with rope and were leading them behind their horses, heading towards the fort.

Jamie strained his eyes, but he was sure he was seeing straight. It was the same group of boys as before. At first, Fraser was at lost on why the soldiers had taken the boys as prisoners -not that they usually needed a valid reason for that- but then he remembered. The _Acts of Proscription._

No weapons, no Gaelic, no bagpipes, no clan tartans. The very same reason why Jamie had been able to identify the boys' family was the reason they were being dragged to the fort now. They had all been wearing their clan tartans in defiance of the king's orders. And now they were going to pay the price for it, unfair as it might be.

The Jamie of before, the one who had not been pretending to be alive, would have surged to defend those boys, faced those soldiers even though they were more than ten and he was but one. The revenant, the walking corpse that he was now, just stood there on the road, looking at the group as they walked away from him.

The soldiers hadn't even seen him, his red hair turned brown from the dirt and leaves of the woods. And the boys had never expected him to defend them.

The punishment for wearing the clan colors were twenty lashes. Jamie supposed the boys would bear them with pride, convinced as they were that their actions were brave and noble.

They were neither.

Jamie's scared back hitched in sympathy. Three more Scottish boys with whip marks on their backs, slowly being broken by the British. That was all they would achieve. And perhaps a noose around their necks if they continued with their foolish actions.

But that was of no concern to Jamie. Twice now he had been robbed of his chance to die on that day by the same group of boys. In a dark, ugly place of his weltering soul, he hated them just a little.

Would his son grow up to be as foolish as those boys?

The thought assaulted him out of nowhere, leaving him breathless and on the verge of blacking out. For so long, Jamie had kept at bay thoughts of Claire and their unborn child, not daring to imagine her life beside Frank, forbidding himself to remember how glorious his wife had looked when her pregnancy had begun to show. Claire's belly would be showing up by now, he knew as much.

Tears fell unchecked from his eyes, drowning his sight and thoughts. Boy or lass, Claire would raise their child well. He or she would never be as foolish as those boys.

Never as foolish as his father.

Jamie bent down to pick up his walking stick. The road seemed to stretch ahead of him, impossibly long. At the end of that road, Jenny would be waiting for him, anxiously looking down her own stretch of road, searching for signs of his return.

There was no desire in his heart to return to that house, where every corner was filled with love and laugher and children. With life.

Revenants did not belong with the living. And neither did he.

His decision made, Jamie found himself walking with more purpose than he had felt for months now. His sister wanted him to keep on living; Jamie wanted nothing more than the sweet oblivion of death. Perhaps he could exist in some state in between until Death finally agreed to fulfill his wishes and took him away.


End file.
